“What did he mean by so will I?” Morgan asked.

“I don’t know, but he’s up to something. I don’t trust him.” Lance turned toward the Jeep. “Let’s get out of here.”

Morgan watched the police chief’s stiff posture for a few seconds before turning to follow Lance.

She brushed some dust from her suit. She’d torn the hem of her slacks, and the leather was scraped off the heel of her shoe. Back in the Jeep, Lance took out his first aid kit and cleaned the cuts on his arm and covered them with a few Band-Aids.

“Are you OK?” he asked.

She felt his gaze on her face but kept her focus out the window. “I’m fine. But I’m sure you’ll have some bruises tomorrow.”

The incident had left its mark on Morgan. She cared about him more than she wanted to, felt more than she was ready for. Her head began to throb. She propped an elbow on the passenger door and rubbed her temple.

Lance stopped at the diner at the edge of town.

“What are you doing?”

“I think we both need a break.” He removed his seatbelt and turned toward her. “You look tired. I know Tessa’s murder really rocked you, and you’re trying your best to save Nick. But you can’t neglect yourself.”

“I’m fine.” She reached for the door handle.

“Just remember. This case will go on for a long time. You’re no good to Nick if you run yourself ragged.”

“I know. I just haven’t been hungry.” She opened her car door. “But I could really use some coffee.”

“Did you eat breakfast?”

“Yes.”

“Donuts don’t count.”

Damn it.

“That’s what I thought,” he said. “You’ll eat too. Some protein might help with that headache.”

“You’re as bossy as Sharp,” she said without rancor. Despite her determination to keep her distance, smart-assing him felt good. The promise of a huge cup of coffee cheered her.

He grinned back at her. “Only when I need to be.”

She shot him an exaggerated eye roll, and his grin widened. The light in his eyes took him from handsome to irresistible.

What was she going to do with him?

Lance followed her inside and found a booth overlooking the parking lot. Lance ordered a turkey sandwich. Ignoring the lunch menu, Morgan splurged on a giant stack of French toast and a latte.

“French toast is not protein,” Lance protested.

“Sure it is. The bread is soaked in eggs.”

The waitress brought their drinks.

Morgan settled back and sipped her latte. The caffeine hit her system with a pleasant buzz. “I hope the police and forensics team are careful going into Voss’s apartment.”

“They will be. But considering we already poked around inside, it’s probably safe.”

The caffeine eased her headache. Their food came and Morgan plowed through her French toast like a soldier. When she pushed her plate back, nothing remained but a few sprinkles of powdered sugar.

“Wow,” Lance said. “Not going to lick the plate?”

“Hey, you wanted me to eat.”

“I did.”

Morgan grabbed the check.

Lance reached for her hand. “Let me get that.”

She snatched it out of his reach. “It’s an expense.”

“You’re not getting paid. You have no income to expense.” He tried to tug the handwritten green slip from her hand. She held on, giving him a stubborn look, and he gave up. He was already working on the cheap for her. She wasn’t going to let him incur additional expenses.

“Eventually, I’ll have to think about what I’m going to do about a job.” She slid out of the booth.

“I’ll get the tip.” Lance tossed some cash on the table. “Do you need money?”

She led the way to the register at the front of the diner. “No, but thank you for asking. Living with Grandpa, my expenses are low. We’re not rolling in cash, but we have a roof over our heads, food on the table, and a little left over.” She paid the bill. “But I’m already thinking about saving for college tuition for three.”

“You could be a defense attorney. I know quite a few prosecutors who’ve switched sides. The private sector pays better than the DA’s office.”

“I’ve thought about it, but I don’t think I can defend guilty people and sleep at night. I know in my heart that everyone deserves the best defense. The legal system wouldn’t work without the balance of prosecution and defense, but my dad was a cop. My grandfather was a cop. My sister and brother are both cops. I grew up believing that criminals belong behind bars. Defending anyone who walks through my office door just isn’t for me. I’m not saying I could never defend another person, but I’d have to be convinced they were innocent.”

“Like Nick?” Lance shoved his wallet into his pocket.

“Yes.”

They walked through the tiled lobby, out onto the concrete, and right into Tessa’s grandparents. The Palmers had aged twenty years since Tessa had died. Mrs. Palmer’s skin was the pale, translucent color of parchment paper. She wore no makeup. Her hair was uncombed, and she clutched the lapels of her sweater together at the base of her neck as if she were freezing. Mr. Palmer’s eyes were rheumy and red. They looked like they hadn’t eaten or slept in weeks.

“I’m so sorry.” Morgan had no other words to express her sympathy. She understood sorrow too well, but losing a child took the Palmers to a place she couldn’t even contemplate without risking a panic attack.

Mr. Palmer shot Morgan a glare she felt right into the pit of her stomach. Her French toast flipped over.

Mrs. Palmer drew up, her face an angry mask. “How could you do this to Tessa?”

“You’re a disgrace.” Mr. Palmer took his wife’s elbow and steered her toward the diner. As they passed, he spit on Morgan’s shoe.

Morgan flinched as if he’d hit her. Lance moved to step in front of her, but Morgan put a hand on his forearm and held him back. “Leave them be.”

“He had no right to do that.”

“They’re grieving, and they think I’m defending their granddaughter’s killer.” Morgan took a tissue out of her purse, stooped, and wiped her shoe. She couldn’t hold the Palmers’ reactions against them. She understood the raw, overwhelming nature of grief too well. “I don’t know how I would react if I ran into the defense attorney who represented the men responsible for John’s death or my father’s killer.”

She tossed the tissue into a garbage can.

Lance unlocked the Jeep, and they got in. She could still feel the Palmers’ wrath. Looking up, she saw them through the plate glass window. Mrs. Palmer was staring right at her.

“The only thing I can do for them is find the man who really killed Tessa.” Morgan blinked away from the old woman’s glare. “Ready to get back to work?”

“You bet.” Lance backed out of the parking spot.

Morgan opened her purse, found a roll of antacids, and chewed two. The encounter with the Palmers had left her with indigestion. “We should talk to Voss’s wife.”

Lance turned the Jeep around. “An excellent idea. There is no better source than a soon-to-be ex.”

“Wives usually know if their husbands are straying.” But would she have known if her husband was a killer?

Lance’s phone rang. He stopped the Jeep and answered the call. “Thanks for letting me know.”

“That was Carl,” Lance set his phone on the console. “Dean Voss escaped from the hospital.”

Chapter Thirty

Lance shifted into drive. He locked the doors. The thought of Voss running loose made Lance want to put Morgan on a plane to Australia.

“No!” Morgan turned to stare at him. “How did Voss escape?”

“He slipped out of his restraints, knocked out an orderly, and stole his uniform and ID. The man might be insane, but he’s very intelligent.” Lance drove onto the road.

“Did he escape before or after his booby trap went off?” Morgan asked.